


seems you've set it running free

by majesdane



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-08 01:48:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesdane/pseuds/majesdane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He's sitting on their couch.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	seems you've set it running free

He's sitting on their couch.  
  
Which isn't really all that weird, but he's not sitting like a guest would sit -- if there's a certain way that a guest would sit. He doesn't have his hands at his sides or in his lap. He's not sitting up straight either. Just sort of slouched in one corner, one arm on the armrest, one resting on the top of the couch.   
  
Mike eyes him from the doorway. "Are you one of Aria's friends?"  
  
The guy on the couch hesitates, as if uncertain. "Yeah," he says, sitting up a little bit. "Um, she said I could wait down here."  
  
"Do you want anything from the fridge?" Mike feels like he should at least be polite and ask. The guy is a guest after all, technically.  
  
"Thanks, but I'm good."  
  
"Sure." He should go. He doesn't even know who this guy is; probably should have asked about that right off the bat, Mike thinks.  _Aria's friend_  is kind of a vague title, all things considered. He lingers in the doorway awkwardly, uncertain if he should just leave or say something else.   
  
He opts for the former.  
  
  
  
*  
  
Passing Aria on the stairway, a day later, he says, "So who's the mystery guy?"  
  
Aria gives him a blank look.  
  
"You know. Guy sitting on our couch the other day. Tall, older. Looks a little like a younger Jason DiLaurentis if you squint?"  
  
"Oh. Duncan. He's just a friend." She shrugs, brushes past him.   
  
Duncan.  
  
Huh.  
  
  
  
*  
  
They run into each other in the parking lot outside Rosewood Day. Literally. It's really, really cliche. Mike's got a coffee in one hand and his iPhone in the other and he's not looking up, so of course he walks straight into Duncan, who's also staring down at his phone. The impact is enough to make Mike drop his coffee; it splashes everywhere, little droplets splattering all over the bottom of his new jeans.  
  
"Shit, sorry," he says, taking a step back.  
  
And then Mike looks up and sees who is it, surprised. "Oh. Hey."  
  
"Hey." Duncan shoves his phone into the pocket of his hoodie, pushing a hand through his hair. Mike hadn't really noticed the color of it before: golden brown. Like wheat, almost. It brings out his eyes, which are the kind of blue that makes Mike think of warm spring afternoons. Not like he's thinking about it too much or anything.  
  
He clears his throat, bending down to pick up his now empty cup. "What're you doing at Rosewood Day? You're not a student here." Everyone knows everyone at this school; all Rosewood students grow up together going here. "Did you come to visit my sister?"  
  
Duncan's phone rings. He pulls it out, studies the screen. Types something back. "Yeah, uh, I just had something to give her."  
  
Mike wants to ask what, but doesn't. It seems rude. He thinks they're going to lapse into another awkward silence when the bell, thankfully, rings. "I have to get to class," he says, shifting his backpack to his other shoulder.   
  
"Maybe I'll see you again," Duncan says, with a slight smile.  
  
(What is  _that_  supposed to mean?)  
  
  
  
*  
  
He doesn't talk about Duncan in therapy, though maybe he should.  
  
But anyway, what is there to talk about?  
  
  
  
*  
  
He sees Duncan on the way home from school one day.   
  
Three days later, they pass each other in Starbucks.  
  
A week after that and Duncan's in the park, shooting hoops. It's getting kind of ridiculous, because Mike has been coming here to play pick-up going on two years now, and he has never once seen Duncan there before. Their eyes meet as Mike's walking over and Duncan pauses, laughing. It seems more of a comment unto himself than anything else.  
  
"Are you stalking me or something?" He drops his bag by one of the benches on the side of the court.  
  
Duncan shoots from the free throw line. Misses. The ball bounces off the back of the rim and comes right back to him. "Maybe," he grins at Mike. Shoots again. Another miss. He chases after the ball. "Or maybe you're the one who's stalking me. I don't even know you, after all."  
  
"I'm Aria's brother."  
  
"Is that what people usually call you?"  
  
"Depends on the person."  
  
"Fair enough."  
  
"I'm Mike."  
  
Duncan makes the shot on the third try. It's the charm, apparently. 

  
  
  
*   
  
Outside the Applewood Grille, Duncan's leaning against the wall, texting. He looks up, spots Mike. A smile slowly breaks out across his face. "Hey there, stalker."   
  
  
*   
  


Mike's never kissed a boy before.

Not that he hasn't wanted to, because he has. He doesn't even have any weird hang-ups about being gay either. It's just that the opportunity's arisen before. Not until now, anyway, when Duncan suddenly leans in and presses his mouth against Mike's. 

Duncan tastes like rum and Coke and peppermint gum and he smells like Axe bodyspray. It takes Mike a moment to kiss back, stunned. Duncan's half a foot taller than him, so Mike has to lean up to kiss him, one hand pressed tightly against the front of Duncan's navy blue polo shirt. He can feel the faint impression of the Ralph Lauren polo shirt underneath his palm. 

"So, that happened," Mike says, when they break apart. He laughs nervously. "Cool."

"Agreed."

"You should do that again."

"Yeah, sure," Duncan says, and does so.


End file.
